The elegant twin searchlight beacons
pointed toward Arcturus
the brightest star in the northern celestial hemisphere.
This one isolated star in the sky,
more luminous than our sun,
despite the glare of the cities lights.
The beams pointed directly, over my head, to the big red giant.
A metaphor that I could not interpret.
Images of my smoothed skin lovely,
crushed under millions of tons of the exploded tower,
imploding into the sky on its downward slaughter.
The years have passed. Time passes, it passes.
More crescent moons preside now than before the sadistic butchery.